


Cool Boy

by soundsaboutright



Series: it eats insects [3]
Category: My Engineer (TV)
Genre: After Final Episode, KingRam - Freeform, M/M, RamKing - Freeform, after season finale
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-17
Updated: 2020-06-30
Packaged: 2021-03-04 01:00:39
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 8,768
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24775018
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/soundsaboutright/pseuds/soundsaboutright
Summary: My take on what happens after season one’s final episode for them.Texting. Then meeting back at the condo.
Relationships: King/Ram (My Engineer)
Series: it eats insects [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1820554
Comments: 73
Kudos: 508





	1. Waiting

**Author's Note:**

> Also, this song put me in the mood: youtube . com/watch?v=CCPqEEC8J_0 Josh Rabenold's cover of Ocean Eyes

_I’m sorry_

* * *

By late afternoon, Ram is back at the condo.

The washing machine’s been loaded with the trip’s laundry, and his tooth brush has been put back into its holder. The plants needing water have been cared for. Feeling modestly accomplished and a tad less restless Ram takes to the couch, swiping through pictures of the last two days that his friends have kept sending to him. Mostly because he knows he’ll come across and stop at _that one_.

He opens the tab with King’s messages. Just in case he didn’t hear the notification. But this morning’s sent text still sits unanswered.

_I wasn’t drunk last night._

Ram deliberates sending King the photo. But Ting already might have. For sure she did. He’s about to get up for something to drink, when suddenly his eyes are drawn to movement, and the typing bubble pops up in the corner. If Ram sits up straighter for it, no one is there with him to judge him for it. The notification sounds off in his hand.

 **Thanthep King:** _I’m sorry_

Ram stares at it. He doesn’t want it to, but it feels like a punch to the gut somehow. A damper on his careful, hopeful waiting. He’s been telling himself to keep his worrying in check, tells himself the same thing now. What _is_ King saying? _I am sorry I can’t do this?_

Ram waits. A long minute. Two.

 **Thanthep King:** _I shouldn’t have shouted at you like this_

More typing.

 **Thanthep King:** _Or pushed you_

Ram breathes out slowly. Texts back:

_It’s okay_

**Thanthep King:** _I am 80 percent sure I wouldn’t have done that if I hadn’t been drunk…_

Ram feels the corner of his mouth tick up. It’s only half a smile. He types:

_I know_

The dots in the upper corner keep moving. But no more messages come through.

Ram waits.

* * *

Ram knows King’s plan was to stay the night at his grandma’s house, and drive home after lunch the next day. King can take a car that his grandma’s gardeners will collect on their next errant in the city. They’ve done it before, apparently. It’s almost a two-hour drive, so Ram first expected King back around afternoon.

He took the dogs out for a long walk around midday, but left them at Duen’s parents’ for a few more nights with a heavy heart. Daoheni cares for them with that special possessive brand of generosity only a child can muster, and they have a big garden for them to play in, so he supposes it’s okay.

It's starting to get dark outside.

Ram’s trying to watch a tech documentary that one of their teachers recommended, but he keeps pausing and switching tabs because he can’t seem to concentrate. He’s halfway across the room to check their stock of cold drinks in the fridge, when he hears rustling at the entrance. So once the door opens, Ram kind of just stands there.

King’s eyes flick over to him, but then he turns around to bring in his bags. Ram reaches for a glass on the counter, to have something to do, but he waits. Fills it at the tab. Then sets it down again. King glances at him once more, shuffling off his shoes, but then he skips down, crouching to address some of his plants on the lower levels of his shelf:

“Hello, hello, I am back at last, did you guys miss me?” His voice trails off at the end, but he coughs and touches two of the succulents in passing, his tone light: “Have you grown? I have only been gone for three days…” He runs his fingertips along several of the long, hanging leaves, but his movements are erratic, like he is unsure how many more plants he can greet before he has to face Ram.

Then he stands and turns to Ram with the same bright quality of voice:

“Hey.”

Ram brings his chin up in a careful smile he isn’t sure makes it all the way to his lips.

King’s head is tilted in that observing way, apprehensive almost, with eyes that are tiny bit too wide. He looks oddly vulnerable in the hallway of his own apartment.

“Have you eaten?”

Ram nods. Ignores how his heart wants to beat out of his chest.

“I’ve brought so many leftovers from at my grandma’s. It’s like a week’s worth of Tupperware…” He half-laughs and gestures to bag he left next to entrance.

Ram nods again. Takes a step closer to King. He’s not so sure why. He just wants King to look at him, not in that furtive way, but _really_ look at him, so that Ram can _see_ , and so that he can let King _know_.

He doesn’t know why it feels so strangely urgent, maybe it’s the day of waiting, or the dismissive lightness of King’s voice.

King’s forefinger and thumb rub against each other, and there’s that slope to his neck again, but at least he doesn’t take a step back. His eyes are ever assertive, still glancing, but he has turned his body towards Ram nonetheless.

Ram knows that any inch more will bring him inside King’s space, and he doesn’t want to be invasive, but he wants to be _there_.

“I think I should put them in the fridge…”

Ram reaches for King’s hand. Puts his fingers around his forearm, stopping him in his motion to go for his bag. King stills. Ram just tightens his grip once, an impulse, a signal, then he makes the circle of his fingers gentle, loose but there, and his thumb draws a caress along King’s skin.

He thinks he feels King shiver. Then King looks at him. The flicker is in his eyes as well.

“Ai’Ning…”

“Why?“

King blinks, a question in the lift of his brows; in the part of his lips. He looks caught and chased and puzzled and knowing at the same time.

“What changed?” Ram’s voice is low even to his own ears. Pleading. And somehow he doesn’t even mean since the text he sent yesterday morning, not since the time they last saw each other, doesn’t mean since the kiss… he somehow means what has changed since that time you put that flower in my hair and told me I’d always be welcome around you. And he wishes he could make King understand what he means. _Don’t you want this? Didn't you say you do?  
_

Ram has brought King’s arm in his hand up to their chests, their feet stepping in between each other’s, barefoot toes almost touching. King’s face is so close to his that everything else around him blurs.

Ram sees him trying to make sense, behind those clever eyes, watches his mouth open and close, and open. Huffed bouts of breath trickle along his neck, before King’s voice carries:

“I don’t want to hurt you, and even more, in a stupid way like this!” There’s force behind King’s words at first, but then it stumbles, peters out. “…and, honestly, all it needed was some alcohol, and I _was_ hurting you.”

He swallows, a hitch like a dry laugh to his voice. His eyes are so wide.

“I don’t think… I think I am actually really _not_ _good_ at this?"

A skipped breath, a missed heartbeat.

"I don’t know what I am doing? You deserve-”

Ram seals his lips to King’s open mouth mid-word.

* * *

He doesn’t even move fast. It's like he’s carried along, inside a shore-bound wave the tide pulled in.

* * *

King’s eyes flutter closed in reflex, but Ram’s linger. He _has_ to know King is okay. With _this_.

A sound like pain leaves king's throat, breath pushing out through his nose. 

But he _stays_.

So, Ram kisses him as slow and gentle as he dares, empathically so. His own heart loud and high and wild in his chest.

King’s lips taste different today, with no trace of whiskey. His mouth feels softer, and there is gentle give. It pushes Ram into a rush like sudden falling.

When King shifts his weight from one foot to the other one in between Ram’s stance, Ram keeps him close just by the yielding angle of his mouth.

He brings one hand up to King’s neck, the other lost somewhere in the fabric of King’s shirt. King’s fingers hold fast onto the sides of Ram’s sweater.

When the first kiss stops, King is still almost vibrating inside of Ram’s embrace, breath shaking, although his forehead leans lightly to touch Ram’s.

_But it feels like getting there. Somewhere. Better.  
_

Ram decides and searches King's lips again, unhurried as before. King makes a soft sound of surprise and welcome.

And Ram _is_ kissed back. Was before, too, but now it is in every way King’s body makes contact with his, drawing him in, gaining steady momentum.

* * *

When they pull back for air, just slightly, cheeks and noses keep touching, still nudging, grazing against each other. 

This time King’s hand has found its way to the neckline of Ram’s sweater, loosely clinging there. His fingertips draw tiny caresses into Ram’s collar bone, and Ram is reminded of the way King has greeted his plant just earlier, and all those times before: subtle touches, checking up and reconnecting and exploring, and he feels lighter. _Despite it all, everything feels lighter._

King’s voice is warm and slightly cracked against Ram’s neck:

“You are… _important_.”

Ram isn’t sure he gets everything King wants to tell him with those words right now. But he understands the implied _‘to me’_.

He nods against King’s shoulder.

As close as they are, it’s just a shifting of their weight, really, to pull each other deeper into their arms.


	2. Interlude. King's POV

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A short interlude at King's grandma's. Next chapter will resume where the last one ended.
> 
> Disclaimer: I did not read the novel. I know of it and some random facts, but I base this ficlet series on the show, and what I make of them in my head.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I decided to keep adding to this. Plot is not my strong suit, and I don't write from a point considering dramaturgical aspects, like a show must, so it is not a prediction of season 2, but I'll just keep letting it trickle on, what I see for them happening when I put myself in their headspaces. I want to explore some more moments with them. And feels. And stuff. Join me if you will, and talk to me about it, since your comments really make it all the more fun<3

“You are usually not _that_ glued to your phone when I talk to you about gardening…”

King looks up from his messages and hastily stuffs his phone back into his pocket.

“Grandma! I am sorry, I swear I have been listening!” He puts on his most charming, light hearted smile: “You want to expand the rose garden with some added stone tiles?”

She gives him a squinted look that is fond above all things and nods, and King looks over the designated grounds she indicated to him for the project.

He doesn’t really know why he keeps checking his phone. He understands the ball is kind of in his court, after Ram’s text, but he feels out of his depths. Wired somehow. Embarrassed too, since he _is_ Ram's senior, and the after effects of too much alcohol always seem to make him weirdly emotional, and not in a good way.

“King.” His grandma has come up at his side, presence and voice warm, and damn, he is apparently not doing a good job staying on the topic of roses.

“Is something bothering you?”

He takes in a deep breath through his nose, savoring all the different floral scents in the warm air, the fragrance of roses only winning out over that of jasmine in these specific parts of the garden.

“No. I am fine. It’s just a bit of an unclear situation, with a friend.”

She considers him from the side, poking casually at a turned patch of grass with her walking stick. “You could call them?

King almost laughs at the thought: “No, that would be weird. They’re not the talkative sort.” He can’t help but imagine it shortly, though, and it makes something hitch in is chest, not uncomfortably.

“If you say so.” His grandma’s voice has taken on that sound of long-suffering affection, but she keeps watching him from the corner of her eye, while she checks over some new budding leaves on her wild rose bush along the low stone mural.

“I’ll be seeing him again tomorrow anyways. It’s fine.”

She smiles at him leniently, scrunching up her nose, and they walk over to the center of the rose garden, where some white and red roses stand tall and in full bloom.

“Do you want to take some of the roses back, for _someone_?”

Now it’s King’s turn to squint his eyes at her, face deadpan. _Subtle, grandma._

“No, that’s alright. Still no changes at that front.” He doesn’t mind telling her little tidbits, giving in to her fishing for information on his love life, within reason. She cares; he knows.

She hums, wisely, amusedly, and he loves her so very much.

“Dear grandson, it is okay to take your time with that. I mean, I know you are concentrating on your studies.”

“Yes, I _am_ ,” he gives back good-naturedly, but can’t help his nerves flaring up for some reason.

“Okay, okay, I see. But maybe something a bit more innocent for a start then. Look here, yellow pansies, I read somewhere they mean _I am thinking of you_. You want some of those?”

Let it be said that King definitely got his deductive skills and sly game right from his grandma. As well as the curious nature.

He suppresses a smile and shakes his head, before he can think better of it:

“Unless you have something that eats insects… “

“What did you say? “

“Nothing. I’m good, grandma, really.”

_He is, isn’t he?_

He already gave a flower to Ram. Pre-bloom, but still.

Only that he didn’t actually think _this_ could be a reality. Ram liking him back like that. If that's what this means, after all.

King has to take a step into the shadow of a tree because the sun is making his head hurt.

Yet, even if Ram remembers, that says _nothing_ about the direction this will and should take, does it?

It was painful but safe to want when it _wasn’t_ a possibility, but now, if a romantic relationship should really be an option, can King actually see himself like that with Ram? Can _Ram_?

He feels a hand on his arm.

His grandma is looking up at him, thoughtful eyes glinting:

“Come, come. Let’s get you out of the heat and go for something cold to drink.”

He looks down and sees what she has put into his pocket:

Two yellow pansies.

Bound together with a scrap of the thin thread she always carries, for them to make impromptu flower crowns and bouquets, whenever they feel like it.

_And I just might._ King allows. _  
_

_Be thinking of you._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am already writing the next chapters, that will continue with their evening back at the condo, right where the last chapter ended.  
> Lemme know what you think, lovelies?  
> <3  
> I do try not to overload King's POVs, but it is a struggle, because, oi, does that boy have many thoughts... <3


	3. Dialogue. King's POV

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Continuing after chapter one, after meeting back at the condo.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> oh, have it. <3

_As close as they are, it’s just a shifting of their weight, really, to pull each other deeper into their arms._

* * *

The physical reality of Ram against him, like this, is not something King can seem to wrap his mind around. 

Ram is so solid, yet a perplexingly perfect fit, molded to the circle of King’s arms. Never once, in a hug with Bohn, or other friends or family, has King ever felt so aware of another _body_ before.

Of how their joined warmth soaks right through two layers of clothes. Of how wide King's arms stretch around Ram’s broad shoulders.

The smell of their laundry detergent from Ram’s sweater, the natural scent of his un-gelled hair. God, the echoing salty taste of his skin on King’s tongue, and how -with the way King has buried his chin against Ram’s shoulder- the dreamcatcher tattoo is so very close inside the reach of his lips. How his heart aches for it.

Ram’s breaths lift his chest, up and down, and they both seem to slightly sway on their feet, to the drum of their heartbeats.

There’s no room for thought other than that ever-expanding bodily awareness, and King _knew_ that Ram’s eyes have had that potential of making King’s thoughts pause and scatter, as sure as he knows now that every actual, rational thought _vanishes_ for the time that Ram’s lips are on his. But this, this is floating. And holding on for dear life.

It's Ram, who actually pulls away a bit, to look at King. And just like that something clicks back in place, and King takes two drowsy, careful steps, blinking his mind awake.

Even if he feels dizzy without Ram’s presence filling all of his senses; a sudden loss, like there is not enough oxygen, like the air is _less_ somehow, now that it doesn’t carry Ram’s immediate scent with it.

“I actually should put the food into the fridge, I think.”

Ram nods.

King goes for the bag, lifting it up with only slightly shaking hands. When he turns around, Ram waits at the open fridge, hand outstretched.

So, King reaches into the bag and hands him container after container of left-overs, watching Ram arrange them inside the fridge from the side.

Ram's face in profile is so beautiful. And with that realization, King is so very out of his depths again. He can’t help the thought from intruding - with the abysmal display at the camp- what does _he_ actually have to offer in this? Why does his footing here feel so unsure?

Before his mind can spiral, King clears his throat:

“So.”

Ram’s features stay composed, focused on the task, but King sees the corner of his mouth twitch. So he knows he has Ram’s attention.

King decides that _right in_ is the way to go, so he tries to make his voice light, even if it stumbles:

“So, when I told you it’s hard for me to hold my feelings back… and then I kissed you…,” King has to swallow, still so helplessly embarrassed over how it all went down, “You didn’t just… you don’t think you have to accommodate me, do you?”

Ram actually stops in his motion of fitting the Tupperware on top of each other. King thinks he can see the different emotions washing over his face this time. There’s disbelief, part shock, part amusement, a dawning understanding maybe and… concern. Then Ram actually uses his voice:

“Are you seriously asking if I feel peer pressured into it, or if I actually _want_ to be kissing you?”

Somehow, King can only stare. Shrug his shoulders, a little. Defensively. And lift his eyebrows, waiting.

There’s still disbelief, then the ghost of a nod, as a warm glint softens Ram’s eyes. Even if his tone remains dry:

“I do. Want to. Have been wanting to.”

King’s mind tries to process this. _Have been…_ “Even if it turns out I am not actually good at it?"

Ram’s eyes narrow. A brow twitches, and then there's the slightest uptick of the corner of his mouth.

“You are, though.”

For a drawn-out moment King is _very_ distracted by a flashback memory of Ram’s lips on his, and the heat in his own neck. He has to physically shake himself out of it.

“I don’t mean… I meant the other thing. The actual… dating?”

King listens to his own voice making the word a whole question in itself again.

“Yes, even then.”

Ram turns all the way towards King then, meeting his eyes full on. Doing dangerous things to King’s heart. King watches him exhale, then choose his words slowly:

“You _do_ know that there’s no actual rule book or fixed plan how this has to go, right?” Nothing but raw honesty is on his face, and a gentle sense of… patience. It floors King.

“That however we choose to do this, who is to say we are not doing it right?”

Breaths pass between them.

King is not sure he can actually sort through all the emotions that flood him from different angles. So, he just stands there. Feels the sense in those words, more than being able to pinpoint what exactly they do to him.

Something snaps.

“Ai’Ning! How can you _say_ that! I mean you don’t talk and then you suddenly say so many words, and such smart words at that… Ai’Ning!” The words bubble with playfulness, not quite laughter, but almost.

Ram’s brows draw together, but his eyes are fond.

“I _do_ talk.”

“I know.” King’s heart is beating in his throat, and he feels warm all over, inside out. He knows his eyes are wide, and he knows he is staring, but right now, that seems like all he can do.

He thinks that this is the beginning of a slow smile on Ram’s lips, and then, his voice again:

“Do you _want_ to be with me?”

King’s mouth drops open. His heart does a very complicated thing then, like a slow rolling wave of adrenaline, only it never comes, never breaks, just keeps King suspended inside.

He doesn’t trust his words, but he finds he is nodding.

Ram catches the nod, gives it back:

“Ok.”

“Ok? Easy as that?” King’s mind is reeling.

Ram shrugs, a bit shy. Then he actually smiles, lopsided at first.

King feels drawn to him with a force that is making his knees buckle, and he really, really doesn’t know what to do with himself about it.

Their eyes are still locked to each other, and the room actually starts spinning at the edges of King’s vision for the way he holds on to it.

Then the fridge starts beeping.

A trill of a sound, and it hurts their ears enough to bring some air back to the room.

Ram closes the fridge door. And the noise stops.

It makes King think of something.

“Are the dogs here?”

Ram looks at King, then shakes his head no.

“I left them at Duen’s for a few more nights.”

“Oh.”

Another nod.

King clearly doesn’t know what he is doing:

“Do you want to go get them tomorrow morning?”

He feels breathless, as Ram’s smile starts out hesitant, searching, but then fills his features full on.

Ram grabs King’s forearm, and leads him to the couch.

By the time they reach it, his hand has glided down, until their fingers are intertwined, and he is leading King by the actual hand.

Holding each other.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i think this evening in the condo has one more chapter in it for them <3
> 
> but not today since it is almost 3 am here now, and after 2 chapters written today my mind can't be trusted.
> 
> thank you for all your comments, they make it so much more fun!


	4. the craftmanship of Thai engineering

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sitting on the couch holding hands. Also, slightly distracted, horny King. Yap.

The simple process of sitting down on the couch next to each other is new and strangely awkward and not, and so very, very loaded, that King doesn’t know how his mind will handle the whole of living together with Ram now that this is a thing. _Them_. Holding hands.

Their fingers are still interlinked between them on the couch, King’s hand on top and Ram’s palm-up.

“What have you been watching?” King tries to distract himself by the low muted sound from Ram’s tablet. Instead of an answer, Ram turns on the TV and pulls the documentary up on the big screen.

King remembers actually seeing this one before and it’s a good thing, because he doesn’t know how Ram is faring, but _he_ for sure is not absorbing anything coming from the speakers right now. All his capacities for attention seem to be exhausted with the sheer reality of Ram next to his side, even if they are not touching except for their palms, and occasionally their bare heels, when someone adjusts their position.

King can sense the body heat coming off Ram’s skin. The thought is mint, unused, that he is allowed to _want_ that.

It's in the middle of a sentence, that Ram lowers the volume a bit, and turns his face towards King. Just looking at him.

And the sight is familiar and yet not and suddenly the notion hits that King has absolutely no idea what Ram is thinking right now.

He’ll have to reorganize his whole learned catalogue of interpretations of Ram’ expressions, evaluate them in a different light, add some mental pages for ones entirely new and unseen.

Then Ram actually lets go of his hand and reaches up to King’s hairline, halting just before touching, following his hand with his eyes, then glancing back at King.

King swallows, and answers the question that he thinks is being asked: “Oh, I am fine, it barely itches anymore and doesn’t hurt except for when I move my head in sudden motions.”

“When will the sutures be removed?”

“Oh. P’Thara said to come by on Friday, I believe.”

Ram nods. And then he does touch, nothing more than a light graze of some strands of King’s hair, but it carries to the roots, along King’s scalp and shivers down his spine raising goose bumps in its wake.

King lets out a breath.

Thankfully Ram seems satisfied with the information he received, turning back to the TV and adjusting the volume again.

He moves for King’s hand again.

This time, he doesn’t intertwine their fingers, but holds King’s hand in a loose grip, allowing Ram’s thumb and fingers space to explore in leisurely casual movements. Which have King biting the inside of his lip.

King tries to listen to the interview that is being led on screen.

“… perfectly illustrates the masterful craftmanship of Thai engineering…”

Ram’s fingertips travel along the heel of King’s hand, and the pleasurable tickling sensation lights up sparks along King’s entire forearm.

“… furthermore, the magnitude of this specific endeavor surpasses standards that…”

And how does a tiny circle drawn to the center of his palm feel so heart-stoppingly intimate?

King presses the soles of his feet and toes flat onto the cool floor, to relieve some of the heat that is filling him up.

When the edge of Ram’s smooth nail drags between the groove of two knuckles, continuing along the backside of King’s index finger, King’s brain short-circuits, and his hand twitches out of Ram’s grasp as he stands:

“I think I’ll go shower before bed.”

Ram looks up at him, a bit puzzled maybe, but nods.

King’s not proud of how fast he is out of the room.

* * *

The shower water is a blissful cool rush to King’s forehead only for a moment. Then the replay his mind gives him of what has just happened makes him wipe the suds of shampoo out of his face with a nervous flourish.

Did he actually just proposition Ram? Sure, he just mentioned going to bed after washing up, but that means they’ll have to decide about sleeping arrangements, and did that sound like he indicated going to bed together? King sputters out a mouthful of water, rubbing at his eyes.

He feels jittery with a wired, electric tension that seems to vibrate through his veins, and he isn’t sure what to do about it. 

King really should get used to carrying the title of Ram’s boyfriend before adding anything else for his overwhelmed brain to process, so it would probably be better if one of them slept on the couch, like they did before King injured his head.

Yes. Most sensible thing to do.

There are parts of him that disagree, but that was to be expected. King huffs. For a moment King considers actually taking care of matters right here in the shower, but he doesn’t trust himself with the thoughts he’d be thinking, so he opts for dialing down the water temperature another two degrees instead.

* * *

When King comes back into the living room, carefully toweling dry the hair on the back of his head, the TV is playing low music, and Ram is already setting up his pillow and blanket for the night on the couch.

And King can’t explain the sinking feeling that hits him.

It obviously has nothing to do with the fact that Ram is already in his soft long sleep pants and worn black tank top, because that? Honestly not fair.

“You don’t have to sleep here, we can share the bedroom.” King listens to himself abandoning all self-preservation instincts and digging his own grave.

“I mean we _did_ sleep next to each other before.” A furtive gesture with his towel that goes nowhere.

Ram is looking at him with a patient intensity to his eyes that King can’t begin to decipher. King’s voice becomes smaller; and why is he still talking?

“We _can_ just sleep next to each other, right…?”

There’s an uptick to Ram’s brow.

And he takes three steps across the room, and then he is kissing King.

It's a zing of adrenaline from the roots of King's hair down to his toes.

This kiss is _different_.

For starters, there is definitely tongue.

But it’s more than that.

It’s the way that Ram’s hands dig into the shirt at King’s waist, bunching up the fabric, pulling King flush against him. How he angles his head to be closer and push against King at the same maddening time, catching King’s lower lip between his. How Ram’s hands then come up to the sides of King’s neck, gentle but holding him _there_ , and King knows he must feel his jumping pulse right there in his jugular.

When they pull back for air, King’s eyes fall onto the uneven patches of reddened skin all along Ram’s neck, and he remembers seeing his skin flushed with exertion while boxing, but nothing quite this prominent. But oh, how he hoped Ram’s pale skin would do that. It is making him feel things.

He stares. Mesmerized by how some blooming rosy spots color outside the lines of the dream catcher tattoo, and King is certain, that this knowledge will never let him just lie beside Ram tonight, close enough to touch, and not go crazy about it, and…

Oh.

King dares to meet Ram's eyes and finds them already waiting for him. Damn. He clears his throat:

“I see your point.” And King would laugh at how raspy his own voice sounds after _one_ kiss, but beneath his amused smugness, Ram looks… just as affected.

“You... couch, me... bedroom. Great. Just great.” King is taking some stumbling steps backwards, and Ram lets him go. With a slight nod. Sits on the couch and makes to fluff up the pillow. All the while keeping the raised brow. As well as the light blush on his cheeks.

And King has to force himself not to glance down, for his own sanity, and wonder if Ram actually sits a little funny, or if the soft cotton of his pants might show a bit more than the definition of his thighs.

He feels the cool of the wall behind him, the corner leading to the hallway to the bedroom.

“Great. As if I’ll be able to sleep _at all_ now tonight…”

Did he say that out loud?

“Ai’Ning, are you laughing?!”

But despite his offended tone, King can’t but be smiling himself.

His heart so full it feels like brimming over.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So. 
> 
> If I keep writing on, I will have to change the rating. If anyone is even interested in reading that... <3


	5. Thirsty

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This night is not yet over.
> 
> Ram's POV

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is gonna get like, very explicit, sweet also, but explicitly so, so if that is not your thing…  
> Goodbye, it was nice having you<3  
> To the rest of you: Prepare yourself and your sensitive hearts.

Half an hour into staring at the ceiling and listening to the wind rustle through the plants close to the window, Ram has decided that sleeping in different rooms - when you know your freshly declared boyfriend is just a door and a thin wall away - is actually not any easier.

If he was next to King, he could at least make sure that King isn’t overthinking. So that _Ram_ wouldn’t have to worry.

How he would go about that exactly, he hasn’t planned out yet, but he just knows he _would_. Feel a lot more useful there than here, after all.

He is about to turn the TV back on for some different ambient distraction, when he hears bare footsteps on the tile floor, tentative and shuffling, making their way without light.

Ram angles his head in the pillow towards the hallway. He can’t really make out King’s face but can tell that King is looking in his direction, to check if he is already asleep.

Then King’s toe apparently catches on a flower pot in his way, loudly dragging it along an inch. King hisses.

“Sorry.”

It’s barely above a whisper. Ram makes a non-committal sound, signaling he wasn’t asleep yet.

“Thirsty.”

King gestures towards the kitchen counter as a way of explaining, then continues his way there and fills a glass of water at the tab.

Then he just stands there for a moment, a dark shape against the lighter background of the counter cupboards, his back to Ram, posture looking kind of undecided.

Taking a sip, then putting the glass down. Picking it up again, filling it up almost to the rim, then carrying it with him as he makes hesitant steps back towards the hallway.

He stops there once more, as if considering something. Ram waits.

“Goodnight.”

Ram hums his affirmation. “Night.”

He listens to the careful, padding steps moving away.

* * *

It can’t be much longer than ten minutes later, when a door opens again, and the footfalls come closer once more.

When Ram turns, King is standing at the corner of the hallway, distant colored lights from outside barely reaching him, but Ram is sure he is looking in his direction. Once his sight adjusts a little more, their eyes make contact. It’s actually too dark to see, but Ram just _knows_ they do.

“Ai’Ning.”

It could be a question, whether Ram is awake. But it doesn’t sound like one. And just like Ram can tell King is looking at him, King must know as well. That Ram’s eyes are wide open, looking right back.

King just stays there in that spot, for another long breath. Then he turns and disappears behind the corner, walking back to his room.

And Ram would like to take the picking up of his heartbeat for a symptom of his confusion. Only he is not confused. He is strangely sure. That unless King is sleepwalking - a tendency he probably would have mentioned till now - this is an invitation.

To what, will have to be determined. Maybe King wants to talk, maybe he has a question, maybe he just doesn’t want to be alone, maybe…

Ram stands. Follows.

The door to the bedroom has been left ajar, and Ram pushes it open carefully.

It’s just as dark in here, the only dim light coming from the streets down below out the window, and some LED fairy lights twisting up the wall in the far corner along the vines of a climbing plant Ram doesn’t know the name of.

King has been waiting beside the bed, and he turns to Ram.

He looks a bit like a deer in headlights, not surprised really, but fully alert, like he might have been listening for footsteps himself, like he was unsure if Ram would come.

King swallows, and the movement of his throat in the low light is starkly prominent, and it drags Ram’s attention downwards, and further, to King’s fists loosely curling and opening at his sides, down to how his long shirt falls in an unusual way above his soft sleep pants.

But before Ram can form a coherent thought following that observation, King hurries to turn away, crawling onto the bed under the thin cover, and heat hits Ram’s neck with a vengeance.

King looks at him and Ram’s body moves, and he climbs in next to King in the space he left open, until they face each other on their sides.

This close Ram can tell that King’s eyes are wide awake and mapping Ram’s features carefully, like he is searching for something. This close Ram can smell the fresh scent of King’s shampoo, from the pillow and King’s hair, spearmint and rosemary.

Then King reaches out and his fingertips land softly on the side of Ram’s neck. Where the dreamcatcher is, Ram realizes.

And this time King's fingers move. This time it is most surely a caress.

Ram’s eyes flutter closed only for a second.

He feels King’s lips on his.

So very gentle, it starts out like a tentative welcome, but a sharp exhale through his nose later Ram knows better, because the heedful slowness of it all makes his toes curl into the sheet with how much he is turned on, just from this, in a matter of moments.

It’s so new, this open and sober statement they seem to make through this, of the two-sidedness of their attraction, this pull like gravity, body and soul.

Ram wants to taste every second of that newness, wants to bury his face against every revealed section of skin King will give him, just to know that he _can_.

King breaks their kiss and takes a breath in through his teeth:

“Have you done something like this before?”

Ram knows he wants to say no before he can even think about it. Nothing he’s done feels like it counts. It isn’t much anyway, but no, looking at King before him, it doesn’t count.

He shakes his head.

“You?”

“Not with… a guy.”

Ram lets it sink in. It’s not apologetic, simply a statement.

Ram wants to ask: _What does it mean to you? Have you known like I have known? Does your family know? How will they react?_

Instead he watches King’s lips move as King asks:

“What do you wanna do?”

And Ram decides that this physical reality in front of him might just be its own truth, and answer, for the time being.

He takes King’s hand and pushes it down the neckline of his tank top, onto the tattoo that King’s glance has been dropping to, and King’s fingers instinctively press down. It makes Ram's haert skip a beat. Makes him move forward.

So it’s inside the open mouthed kiss that follows that Ram’s voice catches:

“Can we… touch?”

Words are vague and fail Ram too often, so he tries to convey another way, hoping King will understand, what he himself is not too certain he is even asking. The question like the answer gets swallowed with their next kiss anyway.

Ram scoots closer, and, arm propped up, angles their kiss from lightly above King. It has King making a sound underneath him, eyes wide and looking like he’s about to vibrate out of his skin. But his hand stays firm on Ram’s chest, fingers twitching, like he doesn’t want to miss or give up any stretch of bare contact conquered.

Ram sits up a bit more, and strips off his shirt.

He feels shy only for a moment, but he searches King’s every reaction. The way eyes flit down, and breath hitches. The way King’s hands reach out to touch again almost immediately.

King digs his fingers into Ram’s shoulders, pulling him closer, and Ram is unsure about trying to take King’s shirt off, so he hooks his thumb into the neckline and moves it down, pressing his lips and the tip of his tongue to the space he has uncovered.

The noise King makes is one that Ram feels down to his toes. Then King fumbles for the seam of his own shirt, pulling it off with quick, jumpy motions, and lies back down under Ram, breathing hard through parted lips.

Their eyes meet, then their foreheads.

Then mouths. Then chests.

King’s low gasps become a little frantic, fingers kneading at the hairline on Ram’s neck, and Ram knows exactly why as he brings his body down and the touch of skin to skin is a shock of pleasure, and his nipples drag against the smooth wide planes of King’s body beneath him.

In a flutter of motion, King’s hands scramble between them and he pushes them against Ram’s collarbones, tracing around the muscle of his pecs. Ram stops and holds his breath.

“Having you like this…”, King’s voice is scratched with heat and Ram waits and listens carefully, “…is _so much_.”

Ram nods. Can’t do anything but. He thinks he knows what King means.

King’s fingers trail down along Ram’s arms.

“Ai’Ning, you’re shaking.”

And it’s true. Having rested his weight on them, his arms are trembling, but it’s not for lack of stamina, Ram wants to say, it comes from someplace else, and in the very best way, but King’s lopsided smile interrupts him:

“Do I need to take over?”

Something about how King phrases it makes the skin of Ram’s neck prickle with warmth.

“You wanna be on top?”

King blinks at that, studying Ram for a moment, thoughtful. Then his face twists into a cheeky grin.

“Nah, for now, this is quite comfortable. You know. Head injury and sudden motions and stuff…” He trails off like he doesn’t actually really mean that last part. Or like he got distracted by his hands on Ram’s triceps.

Ram raises one eyebrow and King pulls him down against his smile.

It might be that King pushes up a bit, too, but this time their lower bodies come together as well, and it trickles an electric, broken shiver along Ram’s spine.

One he hasn’t recovered from when King reaches down between them and into the waistband of Ram’s pants.

It’s all Ram can do to hold himself up.

King is making sounds against his ear, asking, soothing, and Ram closes his eyes, presses his face against King’s neck.

King’s strokes on him are featherlight and gentle, like that first kiss earlier, and it’s so frustratingly good and effective, that with every caress Ram is wrung tighter, stilling in his position except for those building muscle spasms deep in his core that he seems to have no control over, abs twitching with shallow stumbling breaths.

“Ning.” When he tries and opens his eyes, King is watching his face with fascination and awe and fondness, mumbling his name for him over and over, barely above a whisper, other hand tracing the hairline above Ram’s ear. Brushing at stubborn, straying strands.

Then Ram is kissed again. Coaxed in and down by warm, full lips and tongue and maybe a hint of teeth. King shifts underneath him, and then there’s some kicking and shuffling, huffed and hummed noises, and Ram follows suit, bringing the waistband of his pants down somewhat along his thighs, and then he feels King against him.

Hipbones, and sweat-damp hair, and friction, both of them pushing into King’s loosely curled fingers. Ram barely has time to find a rhythm for the movement of his hips other than the pulsing beat of his heart inside his ears, when King stops.

He can’t help but make a sound that might have been King’s name but comes out small and plaintive to his own ears. Suddenly without contact, Ram reflexively pushes up, dragging a line of precum along King’s belly. King _moans_.

Then his moan becomes stumbling words, reassuring:

“No, no, I won’t stop, _so not_ _stopping_ , Ning, just let me get the lube…”

Ram’s brain blanks. For a furtive second there is a sense of panic, of _too fast_ , before he can even form a thought about why, but then King’s mumbling gets through to him:

“It’s just in the night stand, and it’ll feel better with my hand and the both of us like this…”

King twists at the waist under him, reaching for the bedside table, and Ram can’t but press butterfly kisses to his exposed side, doesn’t know where alse to put all this tension, and King twitches and laughs, and shoves at Ram with his free hand.

He rummages through the drawer, and when he doesn’t find what he is looking for, he groans, impatient, and switches on the lamp.

It’s only a nightlight, not too bright, but it paints soft shadows on the features of King’s beautiful body, puts some color to his skin.

King finally fishes out a crumpled tube and puts a generous amount of lube unto his hand. When he turns and looks at Ram, what he sees gets a sound out of him that Ram can _feel_ in his belly _,_ and King hurries to put his hand down under the covers between them.

The short shock of cold has them both gasping; but what follows makes it worth it. _  
_

They stumble into a quickening rhythm, uneven and breathless like laughter, between pushing against each other and bodies rolling hips, between King’s fingers providing something to drive against, to bring them together, to graze over skin sensitive with slickness.

Ram drowns in King’s sounds, King’s other hand all over his back, fingers kneading, pulling in, giving soft directions and affirmations. It’s unique, that thing they create together, and Ram’s head is spinning with how wanted he feels; and how much it turns him on.

King’s body is strong, tall planes, and he is all around Ram; and Ram feels safe to just trust his own body following the little cues on instinct, letting go. Because there is no doubt left that King wants this, and that this feels good to him, too.

Ram is grateful for how generous King is with his responses, his face, his voice, his wandering hands, leg hooking over his under the covers. How he meets Ram’s thrusts halfway, even if all this enthusiasm has Ram tethering on the brink far too soon.

When King’s wrist figures out an angle that is _too much_ , teasing at all the right spots once Ram thrusts through, he drops down on one elbow, has to wipe sweat from his eye and presses his face to the side of King’s neck to collect himself for a moment.

“Hey there, Ning, no hiding…” He’s brought up again by King’s voice and his hand cupping the side of Ram’s jaw. Then King kisses him and it’s barely more than open mouths breathing together, and King, fast learner that he is, goes for that exact same angle again.

“P’King, I’m…I'm-” It’s lost at the corner of King’s mouth where it meets King’s answer, full of affection:

“Yes.”

Then everything vanishes but the slide of King’s hand just _there_ , and Ram digs his fingers into the mattress, and it breaks over him like a wave, and he rides it to his core and then back out again, flowing out along his body, reaching out and floating.

* * *

It must be two, or maybe three breaths later.

When Ram realizes that he has dropped down completely. Put all his weight onto King, and now King has difficulty moving his hand.

With half a brain, Ram tries to lift his hips, but King pushes his fingers into Ram’s shoulder hard, pulling him down. King's voice is quieter, but a toppling tumble of breaths.

Then there’s a shock of heat on Ram’s stomach when King is coming. And Ram was too out of it with orgasm to notice it with himself, but he realizes now how very warm the spurts of King’s cum are on his skin.

He feels King’s hand tremble lightly with the aftershocks, caught fast between them.

* * *

King keeps making low noises afterwards, just adding a little sound to his breathing, humming. Full of blissful contentment and drifting. Ram cherishes the knowledge. Of course King is vocal even here.

“Hmmm. Heavy.” Ram makes to move up, but King’s arm is locked around his neck and shoulders, and Ram huffs a laugh, and King hums some more.

Then he lets go, and Ram moves up next to him.

And Ram can’t resist but look down, with King laying open and spent like this, sleep pants down somewhere around one ankle, one knee up, with wiped streaks of cum on his belly and on his hand, loosely curled at his side; still shaking from the exertion.

Ram is aware that he stares, but something inside him settles, makes sense without him being able to name it.

It’s like all synapses in his brain’s reward circuit are firing. He really, really likes the sight, and it is not even sexual. Well not _only_ sexual.

He finds King looking at him from the side, studying him like always, but his smile is peaceful, void of doubt for a drawn-out moment.

Ram kisses him to the corner of his mouth, and gets another happy contented hum in return.

“You think you can sleep now?”

King raises his brows at Ram: “Huh. I think I just might be able to…,” he looks down, moves his fingers tentatively and gestures to his general midsection, “I might need a quick wash, though, first.”

Ram swallows, but lifts his own brows in acknowledgment, tilting his head with a silent indication of ’You think?’.

King darts forward and surprises him with a peck to his lips.

“Don’t go anywhere.”

More of raised brows.

“I might need the bathroom, too.”

“Alright but… come back?”

Ram nods. By now, the radiating sense of affection behind his solar plexus feels like a permanent fixture.

King maneuvers himself out of bed, struggling to pull his pants up enough to walk, quietly laughing. He leaves, shirtless, shuffling barefoot out of the door towards the bathroom.

Ram leans back.

With the stillness of room, he can almost hear his own heartbeat. Body buzzing with left over electricity, he tries to calm his breathing; breathing that feels like held back laughter. Then he gives up on that, and he just lets all the emotions flood over him for a moment.

* * *

They meet in the middle of the hallway on Ram’s way to the bathroom. And in the dark, when King steps close, wrapping fingers around Ram’s wrist, Ram’s brain does a complicated thing.

This King before him is familiar in a sense, that he _has been_ moving around in Ram's periphery; living in the same apartment, at university, in their friends’ circles. And Ram was never _not_ aware of his presence.

But this King _here_ is also the one that was underneath Ram’s body just minutes ago, panting and sweaty and wholly enticing, and Ram has a moment of difficulty of bringing the two together.

It’s mind blowing in the most peculiar way.

Ram’s thoughts are a spill of muscle memory, heated flashbacks and random memories of King’s smile, his melodic voice explaining formulas, his drawn down brows when getting stitches, him greeting his many, many plants.

Yet, this King _here_ kisses him sweetly on the mouth, eyes full of a lingering amazement, that has Ram pondering if he might not be having a similar moment of wondrous dissociation like Ram.

This King’s face stays close, and he mumbles against Ram’s lips:

“I am just making sure you come back.”

When Ram nods, he smiles, lets go of Ram’s wrist, and turns with a satisfied hum.

Yawning big and padding back towards the bedroom. Sleep pants slightly askew, and without a shirt, arm lifting in a content, if somewhat already sleep drunk stretch. Almost hitting the doorframe and stumbling lightly.

_Having you like this… it is indeed so much._

* * *

It takes Ram all of four minutes to rinse off, towel dry and get some water in the kitchen.

When he comes back to the bedroom, King has drawn up the blanket to his chest.

And is already fast asleep.

Ram crawls in beside him.

Puts an arm carefully around, resting on King’s chest.

King’s breaths and heartbeat are steady, and it gives a pace to Ram’s thoughts, trying to process everything that has happened. All those feelings inside, they are far less urgently bubbling like they were before. Instead they’ve become an even lapping of waves against the shore.

Ram feels a smile on his lips, and he watches King’s face until his eyes fall closed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whew. Thoughts? <3


	6. Epilogue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Short morning after to round this off.

Ram is not new to the experience of being woken by a spike of adrenaline. Of coming to, with a heart racing and a mind trying to place itself and his body inside the correct timeline and space again- and more often than not lagging.

Yet, lately the source of that rush has become something _outside_ of his dreams.

_Someone._

Like, King getting scared by the dogs, yelling.

Or King asleep next to him, but making distressing sounds of pain, after the head injury.

There’s being woken by a phone call then King shouting that they are _late._

Waking in that tent to King gone and Ram worrying.

Waking in that tent to King leaving. And Ram worrying.

* * *

Ram is not new to the experience of being woken by a spike of adrenaline.

* * *

This morning is different, though.

When Ram blinks himself awake, King is _there_.

Propped up on one elbow, next to Ram on the bed, the curtains open and light flooding the room.

His eyes are vibrant and wide, more awake than Ram and probably for a while, and there’s questions and thoughts and intricacies behind them already.

But the way he traces the tattoo on Ram’s side is so slow, and with a steady enough pressure to not tickle. It’s lingering and _there_.

And then King smiles.

And yes, Ram prefers waking up like this.

He puts his hand on King’s forearm in a loose grip and King makes a surprised sound.

“Ning. Should I stop?”

Ram shakes his head. Closes his eyes again. Just drags his thumb in a gentle caress.

_Just another point of contact._

He knows King understands, when he feels careful fingers paint shapes and lines on his side again.

**Author's Note:**

> Shout at me? Lemme know what you think? <3


End file.
